


past is prologue

by againstmygreeleaf



Series: flash in the pan [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Arguing, Blood and Injury, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Let Hunk Say Fuck, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleep Deprivation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-04 10:19:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14590896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/againstmygreeleaf/pseuds/againstmygreeleaf
Summary: Things feel almost normal. As long as he’s not thinking about it, it’s almost like any other trip he’s taken in the pod. As long as he’s not thinking about it, he’s almost okay.Direct continuation of die but once.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, yes that title is from the Empire episode. I'm not stellar at my own titles and I love Empire, and I ripped the title of the previous fic in this series from Empire so why not do it again? Keeping a theme here. 
> 
> So flashing back to last year for a min, I really didn't plan on writing for VLD. It's an intimidating fandom and it's so widespread. I'm used to writing for niche fandoms and F/F, neither of which get much attention so last year it was pretty jarring when my first VLD fic became my popular one-hit wonder. It was flattering and nerve wreaking at the same time. But people were pretty encouraging, so guess what? 
> 
> I wrote more VLD. Participated in the whump week event and tossed out some one-shots. Mostly Hunk stuff. What can I say, I like yellow themed characters? Mami from PMMM, Nathaniel from MCL, Fuu from YuYuYu, YD from SU, etc. I just like them. Crap though, if I keep rambling this note's gonna be longer than the fic, sorry!
> 
> One thing I did not write for VLD was either proposed continuation of that one-hit wonder, two of which were planned. One series of one-shots about Shay being the yellow paladin, and this one that directly continues where the other one left off. I wanted to write the former first and I was hoping we would see some more Shay in canon so I could get a better grasp of her to write a longer fic with...and it didn't happen. T.T 
> 
> But my one-hit wonder is getting stale. And now I'm pretty embarrassed of it. So I realize if I'm going to continue it, I have to do it before I hate it. So I'm posting the direct continuation first and hopefully we'll get some more Shay content in s6 that I can use for her one-shot series. If we don't though, I'm just gonna say screw it and write her to the best of my abilities because she needs more fic.
> 
> Apparently posting things chapter by chapter and not completed is a new trend of mine because that's what I'm doing with this fic too. I don't know how many chapters it's going to be yet, but I'm gonna guess about five. Like its predecessor.

He’s being climbed on and tugged at in every direction and everyone has everything to talk about, even Keith. Hunk could be overwhelmed if he didn’t need the distraction, but the thing is, he does.

Allura leads the grand tour of the repaired parts of the castle. And all of it is creepy because it doesn’t feel like it’s been three months, but it sure as hell looks it. Repairs included reasonable remodeling based on circumstances. There are different materials in the walls. The shapes are just off enough to make him feel like he’s looking at something new. The kitchen is the worst both because that’s where it’s the most noticeable and because Hunk feels like it only just imploded on him, maybe a couple hours ago tops.

Cryo-sleep had been dreamless. It usually is, or else Hunk just forgets them. That feels a lot eerier this time around, churns his stomach to think about, really. The empty darkness…

Thinking at all right now isn’t going to do him any good, so he embraces the distraction that thankfully everybody is being pretty good at providing. They watch some Olkari action movie that is super cheesy as far as intergalactic movies go.

Shay gives him his headband back. Hunk lets Lance tie it for him since he still doesn’t trust his hands. Pidge nests in his lap and won’t get up, even when the movie’s over. And that’s okay because nobody seems to want to get up. So there’s just more talking. Talking on top of talking about other Olkari flicks, more ventures Hunk missed, some Altean trivia.

Things feel almost normal. As long as he’s not thinking about it, it’s almost like any other trip he’s taken in the pod. As long as he’s not thinking about it, he’s almost okay.

* * *

Later is another story. The distraction dries up as the routine of night resumes, the castle lights dimmed and everyone dispersing to their rooms. Hunk finds himself rooming with Lance for the second time in his life. Shay will stay in his room as long as she’s the yellow paladin, and he outright told her to keep the title until they finished their current operation. That was just practical, he hadn’t been around for any of those plans while Shay had them memorized.

It’s all well and good, staying with Lance. Actually, it’s better. The less he’s alone, the less opportunities he’ll have to think things he doesn’t want to think. Theoretically anyway. Hunk pulls his nightshirt on, gets a glimpse of his reflection out of the corner of his eye, and just freezes.

“ —and I didn’t want to go back there, but you know Keith. He was all about getting up close and personal with this creepy thing. It didn’t have eyes and like, I don’t know about messing with Earth nature, let alone space nature, especially when…Hunk? Hey, what’s wrong?”

Lance immediately gets up and puts a hand on his shoulder. Hunk briefly glances to him before looking back to his reflection.

His hair is longer. Since it was on the short side to begin with, it’s just that much more noticeable that his bangs swish further down the sides of his face. He cranes his neck to get the best look of the back that he can and sure enough, his hair’s nearly long enough to tickle the collar of his nightshirt.

“Oh,” Lance says, gaze sharpening with realization. “I can cut it for you.”

“I don’t care how it looks,” Hunk breathes out, his stomach twisting up. “It’s just that I was really out for three months. I missed three months worth of everything and I’m seeing it everywhere.”

“Yeah, you missed a lot.” Lance frowns tensely, tugs at the hem of his sleeve like he always does when he has to swallow what’s on the tip of his tongue and replace it with something else. “What does it feel like? I mean, do you remember anything about being in the pod, or…?”

Hunk shudders against the place that ‘or’ threatens to take him and looks away from the mirror.

“No. Lance, I feel like we were just talking about video games last night. I feel like everything that happened with the attack and Shiro happened really early this morning.”

Lance’s eyes widen. “Wow, man. That’s so weird. I guess it makes sense that you wouldn’t know, but still. I mean, I’ve been missing you like crazy and you feel like you talked to me last night.”

Hunk nods solemnly and steals another glance at his seemingly suddenly longer hair. His gut gives a painful lurch and he turns away before it can climb into his throat.

“I’ll cut it for you right now if you want me to,” Lance declares, gently curling his hand around Hunk’s elbow.

“Not right now,” Hunk tells him tiredly. “Maybe tomorrow though. Thanks.”

“Talk to me, man. What can I do?” His grip tightens but it’s still gentle.

“I don’t know,” Hunk admits, tentatively meeting his friend’s eyes. “I’ll be alright, I guess I just have to catch up to everything. Like you said, I missed a lot.”

“Okay.” Lance doesn’t seem fully convinced, but his hand slides down Hunk’s arm until their palms are flush. He tangles their fingers together and tugs Hunk to the bed as the lights go out.

Lance snuggles into him, pressed as close as he can get and nuzzling his face into Hunk’s chest. His breath washes warm over Hunk in a predictable rhythm that he finds himself relaxing to. Lance is this solid, comfortable presence in his arms and holding him helps ease the tangled mess of his guts. 

They’ve been mistaken for lovers for less in public, when Hunk’s hugs take Lance off the ground or Lance’s occasional, affectionate tackles in the heat of excitement. He supposes he can see where the confusion comes in, but really, it’s not like that at all. They just happen to be touchy-feely people.

Hunk’s especially grabby when he’s anxious and at the moment his anxiety happens to be raging. Maybe Lance is just accommodating his need to cling onto him like a human life preserver or maybe he’s feeling a little clingy himself. Everybody’s been pretty clingy with him today.

“So I knitted Shay a scarf.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, we went to this planet that had this material like yarn and I traded some of Kaltenecker’s milk for it. While we were there Shay ate this absolutely disgusting bug thing that totally wanted to kill me, so I guess it was kind of a thank you present.”

“A bug wanted to kill you?” Hunk crinkles his nose.

“Dude, this thing was the size of a cat! It was like a beetle crossed with a blowfish and it was hissing at me.” Lance imitates with a (fairly comical) hissing noise of his own.

“Creepy. Kinda glad I wasn’t there for that one.” Without thinking about it, Hunk holds Lance a little tighter. “So she just like, picked it up and ate it? Or did she cook it? I think her grandma was cooking them.”

“No man, she just ate it. Right there, picked it up, took a big bite.” Lance whistles lowly. “It was both as gross and as impressive as it sounds. I can totally see how she won you over.”

“I told you it’s not like that, she’s just a—“

“Rock that you admire very much, yeah, I know.” Lance’s hand lazily rubs up his back. “I like her too. It was just…hard. Not hard to like her, just hard in general.”

Hunk swallows, mentally floundering over how to reply.

“Sorry,” Lance says before he has to force something out at all. “I’m sure you want to talk about something else.”

“It’s going to come up a lot though,” Hunk says, dismay crawling through him despite his resignation. There’s no getting around it. When you miss three months’ worth of happenings during an intergalactic war, it’s a pretty big deal.

Lance nods into his chest and then continues on, quieter, “I took a trip in the pod while you were out.”

“What happened?”

“Some space pirates tried to steal this sacred religious object from this one village. We were fighting on the ground and I got freaking harpooned in the leg.”

Hunk gasps, gut clenching like a fist at the thought.

“I’ll show you the scars in the morning. They’re not that cool but I mean, one kinda looks like a starfish and that makes me think of home.”

Hunk sighs out as he thinks of home, of his family, his gut clenching all the tighter when he wonders about what they must think about him. What did the Garrison tell them?

Do they think he’s dead?

And he was, actually, as hard as he’s trying to think about not thinking about that in all its disturbing cumulation. It would be a correct assumption if it weren’t for aliens and their magical tech.

Could they think that?

Could that be the reality his family is living under, devastation and bleakness, and the weight of an absence too grim to grapple with while he’s off flying some robot lion?

“Hunk,” Lance says and this this slight, quavery catch in his voice that snaps Hunk out of his daze immediately. “This was the longest I’ve been without you since the Garrison gave us the same dorm, so I mean…I guess I’m not sure exactly what I’m saying…”

“That’s okay,” Hunk promises. “It’s okay.”

They stop talking after that. Lance settles as Hunk rubs his back and eventually conks out, his breathing even and pleasant to listen to. Hunk stops rubbing and just holds him gently.

He’s alright for awhile.

But eventually it’s just too dark and too quiet, and he can’t sleep.

Hunk is too wired to sleep, too keyed up with the commotion of today and snuffing out the sparks of thoughts he doesn’t want to have.

Lance is a good presence, solid, warm, familiar. His presence is comforting but it isn’t enough, exactly.

Hunk can’t relax enough to sleep.

Why should he sleep, anyway? He’s had three months’ worth of that, right?

He carefully detaches himself from Lance, charily prying off one arm and then the other. He pulls away in increments and slowly slides his way off the mattress. Lance remains undisturbed, head lolling back onto his pillow and some drool dribbling from his mouth.

Hunk quietly takes his leave and finds himself wandering down the hall. He inevitably finds himself in the kitchen but uneasiness skitters under his skin like scattered ants. It’s just too different. The counters have been rearranged and the one that dealt his evidently fatal injuries is simply gone.

“We replaced some of the broken paneling with the Galra metal left on the Balmera.”

Hunk jumps, smacking his hand over his heart as he whips around.

“Sorry!” Shay steps back, eyes lowering apologetically. “I frightened you.”

Hunk breathes a nervous laugh and shakes his head. “It’s okay. I just didn’t expect anyone else to be up. Then again, I guess I don’t know if you sleep. Do you sleep? I mean, you do, right? You’re staying in my room, so.”

Shay smiles a bit. “Yes, I do sleep. I am simply not ready for it yet tonight.”

“Me either,” Hunk says.

“I’m glad. Staying awake together is better then staying awake alone.” Shay’s smile grows and Hunk feels some of his lingering anxiety lift.

“Would you like to reunite with your lion?”

“You mean our lion?”

Surprise washes over Shay’s face and she chuckles, shaking her head. “Hardly. I’ve only piloted in your stead. I was not the Yellow Lion’s first choice, I was simply the convenient choice.”

“Honestly? If I hadn’t met you and your people, _my_ choice probably would’ve been to get the heck back to Earth and not pilot at all. So from where I’m standing, he’s our lion.”

Shay tilts her head, expression softening.

“Very well. Let us go see our lion. He missed you.”

“I know.”

Over the course of the day, Yellow’s tugged at him. Yellow was patient, much more so than Hunk himself. But throughout the hours that passed since he emerged from the pod, a few thoughts that weren’t his poked into his brain, an image or two of Yellow in the hanger, these reminders he was waiting like voiceless whispers.

* * *

Somehow there’s enough room for the both of them to lie on their backs in Yellow’s cockpit. Hunk doesn’t remember the space being that long, but maybe Yellow made it longer. Hunk hasn’t the faintest clue how, but why would he envision a limit on the abilities of ancient, alien lion robots?

Yellow thrums with a welcoming aura, warm as a kitchen with cookies baking in the oven. He too, helps fill Hunk in on things he’s missed. Visuals and moments flow into his mind in an uninterrupted stream. Shay in the pilot’s chair, planets they went to, Galra drones reduced to scrap metal.

“I’m glad of the good I did,” Shay murmurs. “But I have a selfish grievance.”

“You don’t want to stop piloting?” Hunk guesses.

It’s not like he would blame her. Shay’s been on the Balmera her entire life and now that she’s finally had a taste of how much more there is out there, she probably doesn’t want to leave it behind. Shay’s grudge against the Galra must run even deeper than his, since she’s spent the majority of her life oppressed and enslaved by them. She must get something out of fighting back that Hunk can’t, because as personal as the fight is to him, it’s ten times more for her.

She’s also one of the kindest, bravest people he knows. Much braver than he is. She probably wants to keep rescuing others from the same enslavement she endured.

“That is not close to what I was going to say.” Shay peers at him from the corner of her eye.

“Oops, sorry,” Hunk mutters sheepishly. “You know what they say about assuming— err, wait, I guess you wouldn’t.”

“It makes an ass out of ‘u’ and me,” Shay says, somewhat smugly.

Hunk gawks, flabbergasted.

“Lance taught me that,” she explains, the levity leaking from her expression as she says. “That’s where my selfish grievance lies. I’ve come to know the other paladins more than I know you. They are my friends and my teachers, do not mistake...but I still wish I could’ve become close with you first.”

“Oh,” Hunk says softly. He turns so he’s not looking at Yellow’s ceiling anymore, looks at Shay instead, cheek resting against cool metal.

“Hunk?”

“Yeah?”

“The princess said that it was your idea for me to replace you.”

“I like to plan ahead,” Hunk offers awkwardly. “Or nah, I don’t like it. Actually, I hate thinking about stuff happening to us. It freaks me out, but the universe isn’t going to stop needing Voltron if we die, so it’s important anyway.”

“And you thought of me?” Shay rolls onto her side and gives him a searching look.

“You’re my hero,” Hunk murmurs. No one else even crossed his mind.

“I felt it was the other way around.” Shay smiles sheepishly.

Hunk rolls onto his side too, pillowing his head on his arm. “Shay?”

“Yes?”

“Does it hurt your tail when you lay on your back?”

She chortles, sunny eyes dancing with mirth. “It does not.”

“Okay, good.” Hunk smiles. “I was wondering about that.”

“Do you have any other wonderings I can help with?”

“I guess I’m wondering if you’re going to miss being a paladin,” Hunk admits, sobering. “I know you were the right choice and I’m glad you’re here, but it’s not like I asked if you wanted this. And now that you’re doing a great job, whether you wanted it or not, I’m back to take it away from you.”

“You are taking nothing from me.” Shay frowns. “It is true, I treasure my time as a paladin. I have done and learned many important things. But my family needs me here, I could never leave with the castle.”

“I understand,” Hunk breathes, the familiar pain of homesickness sinking its teeth into the knot of his stomach.

“I have wonderings for you too.”

“Shoot.”

“Shoot what?”

“Sorry. Just like, go ahead. Figuratively shoot your wonderings at me.”

“Oh, I see.” A brief smile twitches at the corners of Shay’s mouth before her features tense, eyes narrow with concern. “Are you faring well?”

“Totally,” Hunk says, trying to squelch the revving of his nerves. “Three months in a semi-magic cryogenic pod? This has gotta be the healthiest I’ve ever been.”

“Your body is certainly recovered, but perhaps your mind is troubled?”

That’s putting it lightly when some of his thoughts feel more like demons in his head, terrifying, hateful things that could possess him if he fails to suppress them. Because this wasn’t just any other pod trip, this was the end and being here now doesn’t change the fact that—

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hunk asserts firmly.

Shay opens her mouth to speak but stops, and Hunk sees in her face that Yellow’s feeding her the same impelling pulse that he’s getting. Hunk hesitates, awkwardly scratching his cheek.

“I don’t know,” he says, maybe to himself, maybe to both of them. If there’s even a difference right now.

Yellow remains insistent, the pulse growing stronger and crackling through him like an electric current.

Shay closes her eyes and inclines her head. Hunk gives in and does the same until their foreheads are pressed together. He expects it to be similar to the headband exercise he did with his team and it’s an expectation that falls short. Yellow transfers their feelings to one another, no words, no images, but their emotions in raw form.

Shay’s worry knocks the breath out of him, but her tentative optimism returns it. Her apprehension pierces him like a shower of needles and her longing kneads his insides until they’re doughy. The moment Yellow breaks the transference is a flash of frost beneath the skin and then Shay is looking at him like a sad puppy that got swatted with a rolled up newspaper.

Hunk still doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t know how even if he did.

Shay takes the silence in stride, delicately tucking a lose lock of hair behind his ear with the very tip of her claw.

“Lance said he’d cut it for me.”

“If I had hair, I would want it long. Like the Princess’s.”

“I don’t think mine could ever look that good, but I’m not against growing it out. Just maybe not right now.” Hunk looks down at his nails, trying to squash the urge to chew.

“You want things to return to the way they were.”

“Kinda, yeah, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“I know.” Shay pats his upper arm, her smile like a tenuous sunbeam. “I have another wondering to shoot at you.”

“Go for it,” Hunk offers.

“You’ve met my family. I want to know about yours.”

“Sure, where do I start?”

“Do you have a mother?”

“I do. She’s pretty great.” Hunk exhales a sigh of longing. “She’s as good a place to start as any…”

They end up spending the night in the Yellow Lion. For a long time there’s talking and for even longer after that, there isn’t.

There isn’t any sleeping either and Hunk feels kind of bad for keeping her up, but he’s grateful for the company. 


	2. Chapter 2

Hunk helps with castle repairs while Voltron’s gone, off to remove an invasive species of fungus from Reloo’klon. The Galra brought it over on their ships and though Voltron already liberated the planet, that liberation wasn’t going to be worth much if it succumbed to the destruction of the surprisingly aggressive invader, which was rather inconveniently toxic to the locals.

Shay’s paladin armor is orange accented and in her hands, the yellow bayard is a powerful mallet.

It suits her. Rudimentary but sturdy, an apt weapon for a wielder who has the sheer brute strength she does. And now Hunk finally gets why he’s heard Pidge and Lance playfully refer to her as “Thor” here and there over the past couple of days. It was something he meant to ask about, but it kept slipping his mind. Seeing her bayard activated instantly put two and two together, and he got a little chuckle out of it before they left.

It feels weird not to be piloting Yellow, but Hunk doesn’t mind. There’s a lot of work to be done on the castle, so he’s hardly sidelined. And if he’s being honest with himself, he’s not exactly ready to pilot again anyway.

Not piloting Yellow isn’t the only thing that feels weird. Pretty much everything does. Yesterday he walked in on Pidge and Allura having a brief, but fluid conversation in Altean. That was a jarring scene that slapped him in the face with the reminder that he’d been out for awhile, because before Pidge could scarcely pronounce a greeting.

Then there’s these looks Shiro keeps giving him. Concerned, hesitant looks. He always seems like he has something to say but he always turns away when Hunk catches him, and that makes him nervous. He’s in between wondering what it is Shiro wants from him and vigorously hoping he won’t ask because it probably has to do with the thing Hunk never, ever wants to talk about at all.

Then there’s the sleeping problem, if it is even a problem. Hunk can’t decide and he’s on edge and frustrated by his own uncertainty. The first night he couldn’t sleep. The second night he felt tired enough to sleep, but popped a couple of these Altean supplements like caffeine pills to stave it off. Last night he did the same and he supposes he’ll do the same tonight.

Hunk isn’t unreasonable. He does plan to take a nap today, maybe, at some point. But the idea of sleep seems daunting. While he’s awake he does a decent enough job of keeping a barrier between the places he doesn’t want his thoughts to go and the rest, but going to sleep means yielding that control. He has no idea what might manifest in his nightmares or if he’ll even wake up from them ‘cause they might be so terrifying he’ll have a heart attack and die (again).

Well, okay, that’s probably exaggerating. Definitely exaggerating (probably). His anxiety loves to exaggerate things, especially the worst things. But Hunk’s been out for three months so right now he’d rather spend more of his life awake than not, and even if his nightmares wouldn’t be of the deadly variety, he doesn’t feel up to having any.

Lance only clung on the first night and if he’s noticed that Hunk doesn’t come back to his room, he hasn’t mentioned it.

He wants to bake off the stress but every time he sets foot in the kitchen, his heart starts racing. The kitchen once felt like a safe haven, a place to decompress and turn his restless jitters into something productive. Where he could focus on a recipe to tune out his worries and the aroma of food would soothe his nerves.

But now it’s the place that killed him.

It doesn’t look like it did when it killed him, with flecks of Balmera crystal in the units and Galra metal in the walls. The counter that dealt the fatal blow hasn’t even been replaced yet. But a remodeling can’t change a thing about the awareness that slinks along every step like an unwanted shadow.

Hunk tries to shake it. He steps into the kitchen imagining the weight of a mixing bowl tucked into his arm, and instead he feels the weight of impending doom crushing his chest. He can’t scramble out fast enough. His thoughts and his feelings don’t always match and when his anxiety’s in charge, the feelings always overcome and drag the thoughts into their mire.

Then they twist and distort, and what was thinking about a potential pudding mix becomes picturing broken ribs stabbing his lungs until they’re pincushions, so vivid he can’t breathe. He’s not getting any air and in reality it’s because he’s hyperventilating, but in the moment he swears he’s choking on blood.

It’s a feedback loop of a dilemma; he aches to cook to ease his stress but the kitchen feels like a sinister death trap.

While working on castle repairs doesn’t provide the same release, it helps, at least. Welding panels together isn’t as engaging as curiously combining flavors and testing alien spices, but Hunk is vehemently meticulous about it. The castle is his home away from home and he takes its condition very seriously.

At first he tries helping the volunteer Balmerans extract the Galra materials. But they laugh good-naturedly and dismiss him, tell him they’ll do all the heavy lifting. They say he’s too small, they wouldn’t want him to hurt himself.

Hunk is stunned, to say the least. No one has ever referred to him as “small” and he can’t even number how many times he’s been consulted to help carry things, or move furniture, or give piggybacks. Being told not to lift because he might get hurt is even more surreal than being on an ancient, sentient planet of an animal in the first place.

He doesn’t complain, it just feels strange even though he supposes it does make sense. From a human perspective Hunk is big and sturdy. But from the perspective of hearty cave dwellers with stone for skin?

Yeah, he probably does seem fragile.

He feels kind of fragile too, if he’s being honest with himself.

But dwelling on that fragile feeling is another inevitable path back to those other thoughts that he doesn’t want— No, that he absolutely, _cannot_ let himself have if he’s going to preserve his sanity.

Hunk centers his focus entirely on castle repairs.

The volunteer Balmerans bring in the materials and Coran guides Hunk on what he wants done where. The mice help him fix displaced circuits and wayward wires in those pesky places too difficult for him to reach. It feels good to move his hands, and the more workloads they weave through, the steadier they get.

Fitting chrome and alloys into place transforms nervous energy into kinetic energy, and through the course of the day, Hunk feels better.

As long as he has things to do with his hand and tasks to occupy his mind, he’ll be fine.

* * *

“Do you want to take a break?” Coran asks, watching Hunk pour liquid metal sealant into the jagged crack that splits the training deck.

Hunk shakes his head, moving the cylindric mixer down some and lifting to pour the sealant into the next segment.

“I’m good.”

“No?” Coran raises a brow. “You’ve been at it all day. I’m a fair supervisor, I’d say you’ve earned a break.”

“Thanks, but if I walk away from it unfinished, it’s gonna bother me.”

So far, the distraction of manual labor is going great and Hunk isn’t going to compromise it.

“Very well. Can I get you anything? Water? Snacks?”

Hunk shakes his head, watching the substance flow into the hole in a steady stream. It goes in blue, but dries silver.  
  
It occurs to him that Coran is hovering, kind of, studying him with this look similar to the ones he keeps getting from Shiro.

Hunk pauses in his task, lowering the mixer. “Is something wrong?”

“Is there?” Coran returns. “You’ve been rather quiet lately.”

Well no shit, lately he’s been a human popsicle in suspended animation. That ugly thought is the key that unlocks the rest of them, and a speechless horror sinks its teeth into his gut as his mind runs wild through mortal morbidities. His fingers itch to take his own pulse and intrusive images of himself in a casket catapult his stomach into his throat.

Hunk races to the disposal unit against the wall and heaves, emptying his lunch. Normally he curses the foul, sour taste of undigested gruel and the searing burn of acid in his throat. But at the moment, acid is appreciated because pain tows him back to life and offers distraction in the process.

But it’s a fleeting distraction and Hunk nearly jumps out of skin when a hand touches his shoulder.

“You’re feeling ill?” Coran asks softly, frowning.

“It’s just my motion sickness acting up,” Hunk says.

He looks down at his hands to still the reach for his pulse and this is when he realizes his nails are longer, just like his hair.

“Hunk…we’re not moving anywhere. We’re stationed.”

His nails are long enough to grow past his fingertips, the nail plates ending in perfectly smooth crescents. Hunk never has long nails. He can’t keep them. He bites them when he’s nervous. He files them down even when he's not nervous, so food doesn’t get stuck under them while he’s cooking. His nails are never, ever this long.

How the hell didn’t he notice this earlier?

“Hunk?” Coran prompts warily.

“I meant my anxiety,” he mutters, jerking his head to meet Coran’s concerned gaze. “You know what, I’m gonna take that break after all. Gotta rinse that nasty upchuck taste out of my mouth, I’ll come back to this later.”

Hunk hurries from the room before Coran can question him any further and ducks into the closest supply closet. He gnaws his nails down like a persistent rabbit with a carrot, all the way to the quick until he’s chewing into the pinkish part of the nail plate and even a bit of the meat. By the time he’s through his nails are bleeding at the corners and the sight of blood churns his stomach, cutting back the relief he’d hoped to find.

In fact, Hunk doesn’t feel relieved at all. Only a bit more subdued, maybe.

* * *

Hunk just picks at dinner.

His stomach hasn’t felt right since he threw up, and it doesn’t help that what’s on his plate simply doesn’t appeal. The main vegetable is a moist, viscerally red mass. If Hunk looks at it a certain way, it’s almost like a bloody human heart. If he stares at it long enough, he can almost hear it beating.

Nobody else seems to see it that way, though. Everybody’s digging in. Then again, not everybody on this ship has high standards about what they eat. Keith and Shiro are a pair who’ll pretty much shove anything remotely edible in their mouths.

Shay eats bugs, for Pete’s sake. She’s an alien of course, so Hunk’s inclined to give her a pass. It’s probably ethnocentric (earth-nocentric?) to judge her for eating bugs. He’s not doing that, exactly, he doesn’t judge her at all, but it doesn’t change the fact that he cannot relate to her palate in the least.

Lance is a little on the pickier side though. Hunk knows Lance wouldn’t eat anything that actually looks like a heart, anyway, but he seems to be enjoying it. So maybe his mind’s just playing tricks on him. Hunk isn’t sure which is worse; his own stupid brain tripping him up, or his teammates actually enjoying something that you think you’d find at a cannibal buffet.

There’s some gelatin thing next to the vegetable that doesn’t look creepy. It’s purple and sweet smelling. But it also reminds him of the way he’s feeling, wobbly and shapeless, and when he’s thinking about it that way, it starts to seem a little like cannibalism too.

Staring at his plate clearly isn’t going to bring his appetite back, so Hunk tries to tune into the conversation instead.

“…and that Reloo dude totally had a crush on you,” Pidge is saying, giving Keith a playful nudge with her elbow.

“Huh?” Keith tips his head, blinking slowly in bemusement. “What gave you that idea?”

“Perhaps it was his admiring of you as though you were the most magnificent crystal he’d ever seen,” Shay trills.

“What she said,” Lance agrees, scoffing. “C’mon, Keith, he was staring at you literally the whole time we were there. How clueless are you?”

“You guys are exaggerating.” Keith frowns. “Right, Shiro?”

Shiro smiles sheepishly. “He did seem particularly fond of you.”

“Oh. I just thought he was happy because we decontaminated his house.” Keith gives a shrug and scoops up a forkful of the creepy vegetable.

“We had a busy day too,” Allura says, lowering her cup back to the table. “I melded some more crystal fragments into reusable scrap, and Hunk and the mice finally restored the meridian platform. Thank you, by the way.”

Allura lightly touches his shoulder, but her smile twists into a frown. “You’re not eating?”

Coran glances over to him, and his frown is even deeper. “Still feeling ill?”

“No,” Hunk says curtly, his heartbeat picking up as suddenly everyone is looking at him. “Just tired. Like Allura said, it’s been a busy day.”

Shiro’s stare is the hardest one. No one speaks a word, but they’re all still doing it. The staring. Hunk feels their gazes like the sun on a blistery summer day, pounding against the back of his neck.

“Quit looking at me!” Hunk snaps without quite meaning to, standing so abruptly, he knocks his chair to the floor.

“Whoa, dude,” Keith says, raising his hands placatingly. “No need to get crazy intense, we’re just checking on you.”

Hunk grips the edge of the table and swallows. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Um, I didn’t sleep…“

(at all)

“…so good, so I’m gonna go lay down.”

He draws back, but pauses when Allura clears her throat.

“Very well, but at least save your plate,” she says, eyeing him carefully.

Shit. The kitchen.

Hunk swallows again, nodding. He tries not to betray any sign of his building panic as he bends down and slowly replaces his chair. He takes his plate and ducks out, holding his breath as he slips into the kitchen.

It’s just a room. Honestly, this is ridiculous. Not only is it a room, but it used to be his favorite room. There’s no reason why he should feel like this. He didn’t actually die in here.

But no matter which way Hunk tries to rationalize it, the moment he steps over the threshold, he’s engulfed in a seasick storm of dread. His heart’s pounding so hard it hurts, all over being in a fucking room. Those thoughts are rising up again and Hunk hurries through flinging open the cupboards and seizing a tupperware container.

He dumps the mess of the meal inside and slaps the top down, carelessly tossing it in the fridge. He kicks the door closed as he wheels around and then he makes his escape, bolting from the room just to crash into Shiro.

Shiro stumbles back, almost falls before Hunk latches onto his arm. He holds fast and forcefully tugs him up. He can’t let Shiro fall on the floor. The last time he saw Shiro on the floor was the worst day of his life, plain and simple. Shiro doesn’t belong on the floor, bleeding and still, he belongs upright and alert.

Alert, though not alarmed, and the look he’s giving Hunk is thoroughly alarmed.

“Sorry,” Hunk gasps, breathless as he finally lets go. “Didn’t see you.”

“I didn’t see you either, with how fast you were going.” Shiro peeks around him, looking toward the kitchen. “Something spook you?”

Hunk quickly shakes his head. “I just…got a burst of energy.”

“You said you were tired.” Shiro narrows his eyes.

“I lied,” Hunk says, but actually he’s lying now, because he’s so tired he thinks he might topple over. “I just can’t do Coran’s cooking, Shiro. I was trying to be polite.”

“That’s new for you,” Shiro says carefully, looking him up and down.

“Yeah, I’m usually not subtle in my critique, I know,” Hunk laughs weakly. “But he helped me out a lot today with the repairs and stuff. Everybody deserves the kid gloves once in while, even when it comes to the cutthroat art of cooking.”

That concerned, indeterminate look Shiro’s searing him with makes Hunk want to run headfirst into the wall.

“But um, still, sleep does sound pretty good after such a jam packed day, so I’m gonna get to that.”

Hunk tries to sidle around Shiro, but the older paladin gently grabs his wrist and stills him.

“I think we should talk, Hunk,” he says softly. “You’re obviously on edge and you don't have to hide it. It’s okay, after everything that happened, it’s normal to have some difficulty—“

Hunk flinches like he’s been scaled by a splash of boiling water and rips his arm out of Shiro’s grasp. Shiro means well, but talking about it is only going to make him think about it, and thinking about it is only going to make everything infinitely worse. 

“I’m fine,” he insists firmly. “You’re reading it wrong, I really just need to lie down.”

He takes off before Shiro can respond and pops some more energy supplements, because while he’s not lying about being tired, sleep is certainly the last thing he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone catch the reference to that one Voltaire song? Ah, I love Voltaire. 
> 
> I met him once! Got his autograph too. Really fun guy to see live, totally interactive with his audience.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that feeling, when you've been awake for too long and suddenly nothing's lining up?

Lance bounds up to him in the hallway, bag bouncing in his grasp.

“Guess what?” he asks, grin on his face and eyes sparkling.

Hunk’s not feeling the greatest, but he softens up some and musters a smile. “Something good, it looks like.”

“Yeah! Mission success on Hepamor and they let us pick some fruit! There’s this one that tastes just like guava, man. Really, just like it! If it didn’t look like moldy rock, you wouldn’t even know the difference.”

“Sweet.”

“I got a whole bag of it.” Lance shows his bag off and gives it a jiggle. “So I’m gonna mash ‘em down and try to make my mom’s guava pastries. I’m sure they’re not gonna be as good as hers, but still. I’ve been craving them hardcore.”

Oh. Hunk sees where this is going and nope, no way, he’s out.

“Good luck,” he says with a forced enthusiasm, the smile feeling painfully rigid on his lips as he tries to surreptitiously backpedal down the hall. “I’m sure they’ll turn out great.”

Lance dims like a lightning bug whose lost its glow, frowning dejectedly. “You’re not gonna help me?”

“Sorry, buddy, I’ve got something else I gotta do,” Hunk murmurs, genuinely apologetic.

“Like what?” Skepticism paints Lance’s features.

“Um…some more repair stuff,” he covers lamely.

“Right,” Lance says flatly. “Even though they’re finished.”

“Mostly, yeah, but there’s a couple things left to do,” Hunk insists. “I’ll help you taste test when you’re done though.”

Lance stares after him, dumbfounded, and Hunk tries his best to keep his departure at a power walk far less suspicious than the run he instinctively yearns to break into.

* * *

“You sleeping with Shay?” Lance asks later, when they’re alone in the lounge, snacking on the pretty tasty pastry things he managed to make adequately without Hunk.

“What?” Hunk gapes, blinking rapidly.

“I meant in the same room. Not like, with her, _with_ her,” Lance mutters, rolling his eyes. “You’re clearly too tense to be getting any action.“

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Hunk glares reproachfully.

“I’m not talking about her, I’m talking about you,” Lance continues, frowning. “For real. You’re mad tense, man. And jumpy, like super jumpy.”

“I’m an easy startler,” Hunk says, shrugging.

“Nope,” Lance shakes his head. “Not buying it. What’s really up with you?”

“Nothing,” Hunk rubs his temples.

“Something!” Lance insists heatedly. “Really man, you’re starting to freak me the heck out. Even Keith’s noticed you’re being weird and he never notices anything! Does it have something to do with what happened—“

“Let it go, Lance,” Hunk warns, cutting him off.

His friend deflates, gaze lowering as he tucks into himself like a sad turtle.

“You used to tell me everything,” he mumbles, quiet and hurt. “When’d you stop trusting me?”

“When did you stop trusting me?” Hunk fires back immediately, irascible with this relentless distress that eats away at him like maggots on decay. “I already told you, I’m fine! But you don’t believe me, you keep riding me and staring at me! So I’ll tell you again, there’s nothing to talk about!”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be screaming at me like Iverson!” Lance throws his hands up, the blaze returned to his eyes. “Holy crow, you’re acting so weird I’m starting to think this is some _Pet Semetery_ shit!”

Hunk freezes, heart jolting in his chest. Chills chase each other up his spine and he finds himself at a loss as that intrinsic fear pumps itself back into his veins. What if he is something like that?

Wrong, and warped, and misplaced. Something that isn’t supposed to be here because for an indeterminate time, he wasn’t here, he wasn’t anywhere, he simply wasn’t at all.

Hunk wasn’t.

He was past tense. Permanent game over screen, if not alien intervention.

Hard as he tries to push the thought away, it slithers its way in. Maybe he was supposed to stay that way.

“Aw crap, sorry.” Lance tries to touch him and Hunk flinches away, but he’s suddenly not sure for whose benefit.

“I’m sorry,” Lance promises earnestly. “That was a really eff-ed up thing to say. I didn’t mean it, I’m just frustrated.”

“Leave me alone,” Hunk tells him, trying to feed his anger so he’s got something replace the fear.

“Hunk—“

“Get away from me!” Hunk snaps.

Lance flounders, slack-jawed. He’s trying to apologize, probably, but the words are failing him.

“Seriously, go away!” Hunk makes an urgent shooing gesture toward the door. “I can’t deal with you right now!”

They hardly ever fight with each other. But when they do, they generally know each other’s limits. Lance stepped over one line and he knows not to push the next. He throws in the towel and leaves the lounge with only a meek backward glance.

Hunk tries to fire himself up and ramp up anger into a rage just so he can have something, anything, even if only a security blanket, to push back those dark things he truly doesn’t have the strength for.

It doesn’t work.

* * *

“When you gonna make up with Lance?” Pidge asks, sparing a glance before looking back to the bomb on the table.

He’s been giving Lance the cold shoulder around three days, maybe four (even five?) Hunk thinks.

He’s not entirely sure. It’s hard to keep track of things. No clocks, only tickers. Balmeran days are longer than Earth days, so watching their sun is unreliable. Sleeping and waking isn’t a way to measure them either, as Hunk only steals infrequent naps here and there in Yellow. He sets timers to make sure he’s never out long enough to enter REM. He pops the energy supplements like candy to stay fueled and they do a decent job.

“You’d be surprised how long I can hold a grudge,” Hunk grunts, separating the wires in his own bomb.

They’ve got to make and disguise a ton of these things for their next mission, which pretty much boils down to blowing up one of the biggest work camps in this sector. The Lions’ artillery is too powerful. They’d tear through the place like tissue paper and inevitably kill the innocent aliens kept there. Explosive devices will blast the walls without harming the prisoners’ inside.

Hunk’s officially going to be the Yellow Paladin again. The castle is fixed and they’re leaving sooner than later.

He doesn’t know for sure how he feels about it.

He can’t place the emotion by name, but he knows it’s not a good one.

“Lance can be stupid sometimes but he’s not mean,” Pidge says, nose wrinkling. “I don’t know what he said, but I think you’re overreacting. You’ve been overreacting to everything lately. You’ve actually just been really weird in general.”

“I’d stop there,” Hunk huffs. “That’s what Lance started with and I’m not in the mood for Round Two.”

“I’m not picking a fight, I’m just stating fact.” Pidge calmly screws the panel back onto her explosive.

Hunk ignores her, scowling instead at the project before him. It seems to blur before his eyes. He blinks a few times and struggles to figure out where he left off.

“I’m gonna miss Shay,” Pidge changes the subject. “No offense. Obviously, I’m happy you’re back. But she’s pretty cool even though she sucks at video games.”

“I definitely wanna take her with us.”

“Same, but— Hunk, what are you doing!?”

Pidge dives from her chair, snatching his wrist in a grip like a dog bite.

“W-What?” he stammers, startled.

“What do you mean, ‘what!?’” she gasps. “You can’t put that wire there, are you trying to make it self-destruct?”

Hunk glances down at the wire he’d nearly inserted and gulps warily. “Oops. I didn’t realize.”

“That’s like the fifth mistake you’ve made.” Pidge pushes her goggles up, pursing her lips.

She’s staring at him. It’s like Shiro’s recurring stare, but more vehement. It’s a stare that puts even more pressure on him and Hunk can feel himself squirm beneath it like a worm under a rock.

“I got mixed up,” he mumbles uncomfortably.

Pidge doesn’t tear her gaze away.

“Like you’ve never made a mistake before,” he gripes, sending her a sharp look.

“Not five in a row. You haven’t either, not before this.” Pidge frowns down to where she grasps his wrist. She still hasn’t let go.

“Your hands are shaking,” she says.

“Maybe because I almost blew us up?” he laughs, this nervous, reedy sound like a sob in reverse.

He almost fucked up big time. If Pidge noticed him even a heartbeat too late, he’d have killed them both. There would be nothing left but red mist and some burnt teeth.

“Tremors, confusion, irritability…” Pidge trails off as realization lights up her face. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“You are the last person who should be lecturing anyone on sleep.” Hunk rolls his eyes and peels her grip off his wrist.

“I’m serious,” she says severely. “When?”

“Last night,” Hunk mutters.

“I wish I believed you,” Pidge sighs.

“Well, I wish you weren’t interrogating me,” Hunk grumbles. “Shiro has trouble sleeping, why don’t you go interrogate him!?”

“Because you’re the one blowing up at me, even when I’m the one who should be blowing up at you, because you _literally_ almost blew up this room!” Pidge gestures wildly with her hands.

Hunk gulps, comeback dying in his throat. He nervously chews at the insides of his cheeks as ice floods his insides. She’s right. That’s all there is to it and the horror of what he almost did steals the breath from his lungs.

How did that happen?

Was he not paying enough attention?

Is it the sleeping problem?

It’s really is a problem, isn’t it?

“What is going on with you?”

Hunk leaves without answering, hurries to the bathroom, and throws his guts up.

* * *

Hunk’s not sure if it’s later that night or the next day altogether when he approaches Allura. Time still isn’t tracking right. She’s reading over some data on the bridge with Platchu and Chulatt sitting on her shoulders.

“Hey, Allura?”

“Yes?” she glances up.

“Do you think Shay should stay the yellow paladin?” he asks timidly.

Allura lifts her chin and something hardens in her eyes. “The simple fact that you ask tells me you haven’t spoken to her about such a proposal.”

“I mean, I was going to…” Hunk picks at his cuticles.

“Her family scarcely agreed to her piloting the Yellow Lion in the first place, while we’re stationed on their Balmera. Do you think they’re going to let her do it across galaxies?”

“Why is it their decision? Shay should be able to do what she wants.”

At this, Allura scoffs. “She cares about their input, Hunk. I shouldn’t have to explain to you how important family is to Balmeran culture—“

“It’s important to mine too, but—“

“—and you’re clearly not thinking about her autonomy in the matter when you’ve come to me about this before her. What is this really about?”

“I just don’t know if I can pilot again,” Hunk admits, slumping. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

“Of course you are,” Allura says resolutely, unwavering. “The yellow ones always are. You get hit and without fail, you withstand the blow.”

“I don’t know.” Hunk shakes his head. “When me and Pidge we were working on the explosives, I made a mistake. A bad one. I can’t make those kinds of mistakes when we’re piloting or when we form Voltron…”

“What happened when you made this mistake?” Allura raises a brow.

“Um, actually I only almost did. Pidge caught it and stopped me.”

“I’m sure Pidge would stop you from making such a mistake in Voltron, just as she did yesterday,” Allura says calmly. “Your whole team is here for you, Hunk. They’ll be there for assistance in the field as well as in the castle. Don’t let fear prevent you from piloting.”

Hunk feels marginally better. He is thankfully surrounded by dependable people. People he works well with, even if they don’t always get along. He repeats her words in his mind for more reassurance, but finds himself sidetracked by an afterthought.

_Just as she did yesterday._

“Yesterday.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

So he has lost a day in there, somewhere. Hunk considered that already, but now that he has confirmation, he tries to create a timeline with it. Did he nap at all between then and now?

He remembers pacing in Yellow but he’s not sure if he laid down or not. Hunk paces back and fourth, not in circles. Circles make him dizzy. At some point, he was on the surface of the Balmera. He watched Lance and Shay play some game with a rock. Or maybe that was before he and Lance started fighting. Maybe yesterday it was Shay’s brother playing with Keith…but that could’ve been earlier today, too.

“Is there something else you want to talk about?” Allura asks.

 _You never should’ve told me how bad it was,_ Hunk thinks.

He leashes the statement at the very edge of his lips, because should it leave them, he’s going to have to talk about it. But even now he’s thinking about it, back to when she told him, and damn everything, she never should’ve said that much.

Looking at her, he’s not sure if he wants to flip her off with both middle fingers or grab her in the warmest bear hug. Because no, no, no way she ever should’ve told him. He can’t handle the things that come with knowing about it. But if she didn’t do whatever it was she did (he never, ever wants to know what), he wouldn’t be here to be pissed off that she wreaked him by telling him.

“Well then say something, don’t just stare at me,” Allura huffs, her eyes narrowing and Chulatt giving a chitter. “It’s weird.”

“Yeah, now you see why I didn’t like it when you guys were gawking at me at dinner.”

“Is that why you’re no longer cooking for us?” Allura asks, frown tucking down her lips. “I don’t mean to sound entitled, I’m simply surprised. You used to do it all the time.”

“I’ve just been distracted.”

Allura looks like she might have more to say and Hunk’s not sure he can take any more questions or concerns.

“Once we leave I probably won’t see Shay for months, so I’m gonna go hang out with her. Later, Allura.”

With that, Hunk scrambles away.

* * *

Shay takes him for a walk on the Balmera. At night ribbons of crystal cut paths like natural solar lights. Shay’s eyes glow like a cat’s in the dark. It feels good to taste fresh air and feel dirt beneath his feet, even if it isn’t Earth dirt.

Shay does the talking, mostly. Hunk is too tired to talk but he devotes his attention to listening. She talks about the different skies she’s seen as a paladin. Violet skies with graceful birds, stormy skies with gauzy clouds and silvery skies with glimmering moons. She tells him the Balmeran skies are still her favorite and he even finds himself smiling.

His smile fades when they inevitably return to the castle and she pulls him in the direction of the Yellow Lion.

“Let’s not,” he breathes, tugging her back.

Her skin gently scrapes his fingers where they intertwine with hers and the way she holds is hand is gentle. Like the way Hunk would hold a baby bird newly emerged from the egg.

“You do not wish to share with me?” she murmurs, hurt dimming her gaze.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t…I don’t want you to feel like I do. It doesn’t feel good.”

“I can see that without being in Yellow. The others see it too.”

“I’ll be okay,” he says, hoping to believe it as much as he hopes to see her cheer come back. “I just need time.”

“Pretending you can hide awareness from yourself is not helping,” she hums sadly.

“I’m not pretending,” Hunk insists despite the uncomfortable hammering of his heart. “As long as I don’t talk about it, I’m not thinking about it.”

“It’s all your thinking about,” Shay says, shaking her head in disbelief. “You can lie to our friends, but not to me. Not while we share a lion.”

Hunk rubs at the nape of his neck with his free hand, shutting his eyes.

“Please leave it alone, Shay,” he begs wearily. “I’m already fighting with Lance and I pissed off Pidge. I don’t want to get into it with you before we go.”

“And I don’t want to get left behind knowing you are in pain!” Shay shouts suddenly, reflexively squeezing his hand.

“Just what do you want me to say? You can’t help.”

“How do you know? You won’t let anyone try!” Shay exclaims and then she lets go of him, thumping a fist to her chest. “Do you realize how terrifying it was when I let you help me? For me to turn my back on the only way of life I ever knew simply because a stranger who fell from the sky offered a small sliver of hope?”

“That is completely different!” Hunk throws his hands up. “You guys can’t vacuum the scary shit out of my head, it doesn’t work like that!”

“We can help bear its burden—“

“No, you’ll just add to it!”

Shay shrinks back, pain flashing across her face. Hunk feels a disapproving pulse from Yellow and turns around because he doesn’t want to hear it from either of them. He stalks off with the image of Shay’s shoulders defeatedly stooped burned into his brain by the lion himself.

Part of him fiercely yearns to turn back, but that part is slotted into place by the fear of what might come of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is happy! Well, happier. Happy-ish.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a short, blink-and-miss-it reference to rape.

Hunk is aware of leaving the ground. The blast carries him with debris, heat, and swirling colors. He isn’t afraid, he’s just very confused. He could’ve sworn he was on the side of the structure opposite to the explosive, but he must’ve been right next to it.

Huh.

How’d that happen?

Hunk hits the ground before he can answer his own question. His ears ring like malfunctioning tech, the noise constant and shrill. It doesn’t hurt. Nothing does. Evidently he got lucky.

This is good. Hunk hasn’t felt very lucky as of late. He blinks slowly, struggling to reconfigure his surroundings. The explosion has turned everything upside down, but he knows he has more to do. Shapes pour from fallen metal, prisoners scattering from the compound. They remind Hunk of ants when you step on an anthill, emerging in floods so thick they almost seem like one entity.

An individual shape hurries over and when the ringing finally fades in his ears, Hunk realizes she’s talking to him.

“Yellow Paladin, are you alright?”

Hunk looks up at her, blinking slowly as he soaks in the question. She has grayish pink and blue striped skin with a cowl of a head not unlike a cobra’s hood. The tiny child clinging to her leg, however, appears to be half-her and half-Galra and even as disoriented as he is, Hunk finds himself silently horrified by what the implications of that might be.

“Yeah,” he mumbles as she helps him up, swallowing the harsh burn of particulate matter in his mouth.

Vertical, pupil less eyes blink at him uncertainly. “There’s shrapnel stuck in your back, paladin.”

“Um, oh.” Hunk glances back to check.

Yeah, he can see a jagged black chunk behind his left shoulder.

“Must not’ve pierced the armor,” he says, clearing his throat.

He isn’t in any pain other than the irritation in his throat from all the crap in the air.

“You are fortunate,” the prisoner says in relief.

“Yeah, that’s for sure. Now let’s get you to the escape pods.”

She nods wearily, reaching down and scooping the little thing into her arms. Arms blotched with obvious bruises, regardless of the interesting palette of her flesh. Arms that seem way too thin to Hunk and though he’d like to chalk it up to different characteristics of whatever species she is, it’s much more likely that she’s malnourished.

“Do you want me to carry your child?”

She gives him a dubious look, gaze shifting to something behind him. “Is that a weapon you can manage one-handed?”

Hunk glances back to see his bayard on the ground, scuffed although still materialized. Miraculously, he’d forgotten all about it.

“Probably not,” he admits. “Sorry, think my brain’s still a little scrambled from the blast…”

Except it’s been scrambled for awhile. Days and days, weeks even, probably. He keeps making mistakes like this. Getting mixed up. Losing details, his thoughts tangled up like knotted laces. Frankly, he can’t remember where the escape pods are supposed to be.

It’s just sheer luck that he manages to get her there, tailing a group he spots Keith leading.

* * *

By the time he’s back in Yellow, the adrenaline is starting to wear off. He hurts everywhere, but mostly in his shoulder.

Maybe the piece of shrapnel is pinching into his skin after all. It probably isn’t deep, Hunk figures. It’s not a severe pain, just a nagging one. What’s more annoying than the pain, is that he can’t really sit in the pilot’s seat. The shrapnel sticks out too far, and it bumps the seat.

Without thinking much of it, Hunk reaches back and gets as good a grip on the shrapnel as he can, a chore because of the sharp edges. He yanks fiercely and the thing slides free with a sick, squelching noise and grating scrape against his armor.

It still doesn’t hurt much.

Hunk is surprised when he grasps the controls and loses his grip, only to see he’s smeared blood all over them. The sight galls him, this jarring incongruence. Hunk cautiously peers around the pilot’s chair and sees red streaks where the shrapnel dropped. A telltale trail of red droplets leads right up to his chair and as the adrenaline continues whittling its way out, Hunk realizes it’s much deeper than he thought.

Yellow pours concern and reproach into him in equal measures, urging him to say something to his teammates.

Hunk pauses, contemplating.

Yellow’s frustration stings, a feeling like being snapped with a rubber band.

“They’ll want me to go in the pod,” Hunk retorts, hissing through his teeth.

“What was that, Hunk?” Shiro asks over the comms.

Hunk inhales, fighting for a neutral, steady tone.

“Nothing,” he replies. “Just talking to my lion.”

Yellow stings him with another wave of frustration and Hunk pointedly ignores him.

The very idea of going into the pod has him shaking and it’s absolutely not an option. He was already in there for three months. Three months, one fourth a year. In this moment, Hunk would rather feed himself to a robeast than go back in the pod and end up like some ready-bake fillet forgotten in the freezer.

“Hunk, you’re falling back,” Shiro chides lightly over the comms. “Try to keep up.”

“Right, sorry.”

It’s tough using the controls when they’re this slippery with blood. There’s a lot of blood. Hunk can feel it flowing down is back in warm rivers, slick and pooling on the seat under his butt.

Somehow he manages to make it back to the castle without falling any further behind, but by the time they land, his vision is swimming.

It’s starting to alarm him, the blood seeping into his under-suit and the faintness sweeping over him.

“Hey, Lance?”

“What’s up?” Lance asks, sounding pleasantly surprised.

Naturally. It’s the first time Hunk’s spoken to him in…awhile.

“Can you come in Yellow for a sec?” he asks, aiming for levity. “I need a little help with something.”

“Sure.”

Hunk exhales in relief and pulls his helmet off one-handed. Now that he can feel the pain searing in his shoulder, raising his left arm is a bad idea. The echo of Lance’s first steps in Yellow catch his attention and Hunk steels himself.

“When you come up, don’t scream,” he warns.

“What?” Lance echoes, his steps halting.

“Just don’t scream.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“Don’t be scared, either.”

Lance runs up the ramp, into the cockpit, and his brows jump to his hairline the moment he sees the blood. Yellow’s jaws snap closed. Lance buzzes around like a bee who can’t pick a flower, jaw agape and eyes wide.

“Why didn’t you say anything about this sooner!? You need a pod!”

“No!” Hunk draws a burst of energy from fear and snaps forward, grabbing Lance by the wrist. “You can’t say anything!”

“Are you insane? You’re bleeding all over the place!” Lance squawks.

He snakes his wrist out of Hunk’s grasp and pulls him forward, Hunk hitching with the white-hot inferno the motion sends blazing through his shoulder.

“Jesus Christ!” Lance gasps.

It’s a surreally startling thing to hear from him. Lance is Catholic. True, Hunk’s never known him to spend any Sunday at church over sleeping in, but Hunk has also never heard him say ‘Jesus’ as a curse or use ‘God’ and ‘damn’ in conjunction. The fact that he’s doing so means that the wound must be seriously nasty.

Between Lance’s panicking and the looming threat of the cryopod, Hunk simply breaks down. He bunts his head into the middle of Lance’s suit and sobs. He’s too weak, lightheaded, and he doesn’t have the strength to sob, but they just keep burbling out of him anyway.

Hunk feels Lance’s fingers card through his hair and jerks his head up, panting through his tears.

“Three months,” he croaks. “I was in there for three whole months, Lance, I can’t do that again. I can’t go back in there, please don’t make me go back in there.”

“Aw, buddy—“

“Please, please, please don’t make me go back in there,” Hunk begs desperately. “I can’t. I’ll die if I go back in there, I can’t go back in there!”

“Okay, okay,” Lance relents, the pain wrought into his features making him look older than he is. “I’ll see what I can do with the first aid kit. But you gotta stop freaking out before you hurt yourself worse.”

“I’m sorry,” Hunk says quickly. “I’m sorry, I owe you big time.”

Lance’s tongue swipes nervously over his bottom lip. “Sit on the floor so I can take a better look.”

Hunk clumsily clambers out of the chair and down to the floor, some of his hair falling in his face. It’s still too long.

“I’m sorry about the other stuff too,” Hunk mumbles, listening to Lance rummage through the first aid compartment.

“Yeah, I know,” Lance says, voice brittle with apprehension. “Start taking your armor off.”

“Okay.”

There’s only so much Hunk can do one-handed. Lance helps him with the rest and peels his under-suit down until its bunched around Hunk’s hips. Lance’s fingers gingerly press to the intact skin around the wound and charily pull outward, Hunk flinching.

“I’m sorry it hurts. I’m trying to be gentle.”

“Hurts even when you’re not touching it,” Hunk mutters. He can feel trickles of fresh blood travel down previously dried blood, sticky on his skin.

“It’s bad,” Lance decides, tense. “Definitely deep. This isn’t gonna be fun for you.”

“Figured that.”

It’s still better than the pod. Even if it’s more painful, the pros outweigh the cons.

“You’ve still got some metal in you. Did you know that?”

“No…that’s pretty gross.” Hunk closes his eyes against the stirring of his stomach.

Lance huffs a sound that might be a laugh and sets to removing the extra metal bits with tweezers. The prongs jab into his raw meat, bolts of pain like insect bites.

“You shouldn’t have pulled it out,” Lance scolds. “You could’ve bled to death and I’m pretty sure you made the wound wider. You took the same class I did, you should know not to do that.”

“It was in the way,” Hunk mutters.

“Not an excuse.” Lance sprays the wound with an antiseptic that burns and Hunk grits his teeth.

Lance sympathetically pats the small of his back and then sprays some more.

“Overkill much?”

“I told you, it’s deep. If you’re not going to go in the pod, we need to be extra cautious.”

Hunk holds his tongue. If cleaning extra thoroughly is what Lance needs to do to keep him out of the pod, then fine. Anything but the pod.  
  
Hunk hears Lance slap a glove on and then he’s overlaying the spray with antibiotic gel. He works it into the wound like lotion and Hunk unintentionally lets out a thin cry. The open flesh is just too sensitive, it throbs viciously even though Lance is making the effort to be gentle.

“Don’t worry, we’re almost done. I think this part is gonna hurt less.”

“Stitches?” Hunk frets. He loathes needles.

“No. I know how squeamish you are, Hunk, so I’m going to describe what I’m looking at as little as possible; there isn’t enough skin for stitches.”

“Ugh. Yeah, don’t tell me any more than that.”

Lance covers the wound with thick, absorbent pads and tapes them into place. He packs some more pads overtop in the deepest parts for good measure. He starts wrapping him up with a wider roll of gauze, around the torso and over the shoulder.

“Thank you,” Hunk says quietly.

“I still don’t like this,” Lance hums as he secures the bandaging with another strip of adhesive tape.

“I know, but you can’t tell anyone else. I don’t want to get forced into a pod.”

“This makes me feel like crap,” Lance says bluntly. “I can see you’re totally freaked out about the pods, so no, I’m not gonna say anything, but still. This lying and junk doesn’t feel right.”

“How many times have I covered for you?” Hunk asks.

“Probably a million,” Lance admits without hesitation. “So yeah, that’s another reason I’ll keep my mouth shut. I just don’t like it.”

Hunk tries to stand up and stumbles. Lance quickly ducks under his arm and takes some of his weight, helping him get steady.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I don’t think so. Just bruises.”

“Maybe I should check you for a head injury,” Lance says, contemplative.

“Maybe later?” Hunk suggests wanly. “My helmet’s intact so I’m sure I’m good. Please, can we go? All the blood in here is gonna make me sick.”

“Alright,” Lance concedes.

* * *

Hunk loses track of the walk back too his room. Lance helps him change into some lounge pants, but he forgoes the shirt for now, figuring there’s no point in putting his shoulder through that agony if he’s just going to stick around his room.

Hunk takes a seat on his bed, leaning his head back against the wall. Shay left him a crystal necklace on the dresser. Guilt gnaws at him every time he looks at it and he hasn’t brought himself to wear it yet. He tried to make up with her before they left, but he couldn’t even approach the conversation she wanted to have. All he could do was apologize for the yelling, and it really wasn’t enough.

“How many packs of these have you gone through?” Lance asks suddenly, breaking into his thoughts.

“Hm?”

Lance turns around and holds up three empty packages of energy supplements.

“Oh. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” Lance repeats, alarm creeping into his tone.

It sets Hunk on edge.

“What’s the big deal? They’re like caffeine pills.”

“As a former espresso enthusiast, friend, I can tell you this alien stuff is way stronger than that,” Lance whistles but it almost sounds more like a hiss. “I’m surprised you haven’t been up for days.”

“I could stand to take one now,” Hunk says, suppressing a yawn.

“Nope.” Lance shakes his head, pushing off Hunk’s desk and folding his arms. “Look, you need rest after all of that. I practically had to drag you here.”

“You sure it’s safe?” Hunk frowns skeptically, thinking back to the nauseating blood trail and Lance’s unsettlingly frantic declaration of _Jesus Christ_.

“If you were like, passing out, I’d say no. But you’re up and talking to me and even if I did most of the work, you still walked— err, stumbled this far. I’m sure it’s safe.”

That’s sensible, Hunk figures.

“Can you grab my timer over there?” Hunk nods to his desk.

Lance gives him an odd look, but gets up and grabs it anyway.

“And set it to forty-eight minutes?”

Lance balks and tilts his head. “Huh? Why?”

Hunk pauses, internally debating the pros and cons of telling Lance. It’s true, he and Lance generally tell each other everything. The past few days (weeks?) of silence between them has been incredibly uncomfortable. Like, wool-rubbing-against-your-teeth uncomfortable. And Lance just saved him from having to take an egregious pod trip, so…

“Promise not to judge?”

“Of course.” Lance bobs his head earnestly.

“I don’t want to sleep long enough to dream.”

Lance’s mouth falls open. He glances from the timer in his hand to the numerous empty packages of supplements. Hunk sees the gears turning in his head and his own stomach clenches anxiously.

“H-Have you been staying awake on purpose?”

Hunk doesn’t reply.

“How long!?” Now Lance is staring at him like he’s just suggested diving off a cliff into shark infested waters.

“You said you wouldn’t judge,” Hunk reminds him sharply.

“I’m not judging you, I’m worried about you! Two completely different things!” Lance flails his arms. “Is this why you’ve been so weird? Just how long have you been doing this!?”

“I don’t know,” Hunk groans. “Quit yelling. It’s fine, I’ve slept.”

“How much?” Lance demands.

“Enough.”

“Forty-eight minutes is not enough! You’re gonna make yourself sick.”

“Better than the alternative.”

“What does that mean?” Lance gasps, perplexed.

“I can’t do this right now,” Hunk tells him flatly. He’s injured and exhausted and talking about why he can’t sleep will inevitably stimulate those horrible, hideous thoughts that he definitely doesn’t have the stamina to battle back with everything else drained out of him. “Set the timer and get out, or I’ll do it myself.”

“You’re just making me do all sorts of things I don’t want to today, huh?” Lance mutters, begrudgingly setting the timer.

“I’m sorry.” And he means it. Hunk doesn’t like putting Lance in uncomfortable positions, but he can’t exactly expect him to understand, either.

Lance has never been dead.

“Can I stay with you?”

“I’d like that,” Hunk says, scooting on his knees to the head of the bed. “If you really want to. I know you’re mad.”

“Nah, man. I’m not mad, I’m just worried.” Lance starts taking off his armor. “Or okay, I guess I’m a little mad. More worried though.”

Hunk wiggles his way under the blanket and lies on his belly so he doesn’t agitate his shoulder. Lance joins him after a minute, only dressed in the under-suit and one of Hunk’s shirts. This doesn’t really help their case of not passing as the lovers they aren't.

Then again, no one else is here to see and they know it’s not like that. Never has been, never will be. Sometimes people are just comfortable with each other.

Though, Hunk hasn’t felt comfortable with anyone lately. Not Lance, not Pidge, not Shay.

Especially not himself.

That’s the worst part too. He can avoid his friends, but he can’t avoid himself. Wherever you go, you take yourself with you.

“You’re shaking,” Lance mutters, draping an arm across Hunk’s back.

“I’m kinda cold,” he mumbles.

“Mm, yeah, you feel cold.”

 _Corpses are cold,_ Hunk’s brain supplies, cruel in its monotone simplicity.

His next shiver is more violent and when Lance shifts away from him, he panics and pulls him back with his bad arm, grinding his teeth against the dynamite of anguish that explodes in his shoulder.

“Hunk, chill out,” Lance breathes, patting his hand. “I was just getting up to get another blanket. I’m not leaving.”

“It’s fine. You’re warm enough.” Hunk tucks himself around Lance like a cat curling around a ball of yarn and ignores the pulsing protests of his shoulder.

“So you avoid me for two weeks and now you won’t even let me out of your sight,” Lance sighs. “I gotta be honest, buddy, I think you’re losing it.”

Hunk supposes it’s not a bad assessment, but honestly, he’s trying his best not to.

"Could you cut my hair when the timer goes off, maybe?" 

"I feel like after the timer goes off you should go right back to bed," Lance says plainly. "This perpetual sleeplessness thing you got go on? Super unhealthy. Explains a lot though." 

"I..." It does. The time lapses, his mistakes, the disjointed track of his thoughts. 

It's a problem. Hunk knows that, but admitting it means he needs to change things up. And he can't just let himself sleep, risking a loss of control that'll dredge up who knows what. 

"Look," Lance begins, "you're putting me in a real tight spot here. I told you, lying and hiding serious stuff from the team makes me feel like crap. So I'll make a deal with you. I'll either keep my mouth shut about the watermelon sized hole in your shoulder, or I'll keep my mouth shut about your disturbing self-inflicted insomnia. Not both. One or the other." 

Hunk goes rigid and Lance continues on. 

"If you want me to keep my mouth shut about the wound, then you're going to let me shut off that timer and get some actual sleep right here, right now, with me watching so I can wake you up if you start having nightmares or something. If you want me to keep my mouth shut about your lack of sleep sans micro naps, then we're both going to get up and I'm gonna stuff you in the nearest cryo-pod." 

"I don't like either of those options," Hunk grunts. 

"I don't like what you're doing to yourself," Lance replies, gaze like flint. 

"Fine," Hunk relents. "Shut off the timer." 

Neither of these things appeal, but between sleeping in a bed with Lance in it and the cryo-pod, the former is moderately less daunting. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Hunk wakes up to Lance’s insistent nudging. He blinks blearily and bats him away. “Quit it, m’up.”

Lance lets out a sigh of relief. “You were out for like ten hours.”

“Wow,” Hunk murmurs, awed. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Lance bobs his head. “I guess you needed it, but I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t cause of internal bleeding or anything. How you feeling?”

“Everything hurts, but I actually kinda feel better.” Hunk wipes the crust of dried drool from the corner of his mouth. “Don’t think I’m bleeding internally. Maybe externally,” he adds, nose wrinkling. “My back feels wet.”

“Sit up for me, real quick.”

Hunk obediently sits up, albeit not quickly. He feels slower than a tranquillized sloth. The muscles in his shoulder are stiff and aching. He’s sore all over, like the bruises have been pounded into his bones.

“You bled through a little,” Lance tells him, gentle hand fluttering over the area. “But I think it’s mostly sweat.”

“That’s less gross,” Hunk says agreeably. Still pretty gross though. Hunk figures he should shower but he’s going to wait until moving is a little easier.

“I should probably get you some new bandages though.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s not like you can reach it yourself,” Lance points out.

“Well…that’s true. Hey, when did you become the practical one?” Hunk lifts a brow.

“Um, like forever ago. I’ve always been the practical one.” Lance rolls his eyes.

“Pfft, no way.”

“Come on, buddy, you daydream about sporks. I am definitely the practical one.”

“Sporks are the ultimate utensil,” Hunk persists. “It’s not my fault if you can’t see that.”

“Whatever you say.” Lance shakes his head, smirking. It fades a bit as something else crosses his face. “By the way, how’d you sleep?”

“Good,” Hunk says, surprising himself with the realization. “I didn’t dream or anything. I was just out.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, it really hits Hunk what an important revelation this is. He didn’t dream. No nightmares, nothing bad, no graphic images to haunt him or macabre sequences to stop his head.

“No dreams,” he repeats just to reassure the reality, and the relief is so great, he finds himself laughing.

It peals him out him, giddy and tearful and very much like knives through his torso.

“Ow, okay, ow, laughing’s a bad idea.” Hunk hunches forward, good arm wrapped around his midsection.

“How bad?” Lance worries. “Like, are we talking internal bleeding?”

Hunk snorts. “No, Lance. It’s probably just bruised ribs.”

“You sure?” Lance frowns. “Even if you don’t go in the pod, maybe we should get you checked out and scanned and stuff. Just to make sure. You were in an explosion.”

“No, I was next to an explosion.”

“Hunk.”

“No,” Hunk growls, pinning him with a determined look. “Coran will want me to go in the pod. They’ll all want me to go in the pod. I kept my end of the deal, you need to keep yours.”

“Okay, okay, I will,” Lance promises, holding his hands up defensively. “I won’t say anything, but don’t bite my head off for being concerned.”

“Sorry,” Hunk mumbles, deflating. “I just feel okay for the first time in awhile, I don’t wanna ruin it.” 

* * *

If there were a competition for Best Friend of the Year, Hunk would not only enter Lance, but rig it just to be positive he would win, even though he would most likely win anyway.

True to his word, Lance keeps silent about the injury.

When Shiro tries to press Hunk for bowing out of training exercises, Lance immediately comes to rescue.

“Let him skip,” he says casually. “His anxiety’s acting up again. You don’t wanna get puked on, do you?”

Lance takes Hunk’s chores on with the excuse that he lost a bet with him.

“What bet?” Keith wonders.

“The one about the size of your dick,” Lance teases. “I was thinking baby carrot but apparently it’s a modest banana. Congrats, Keith.”

“W-What?!” Flushed and fuming, Keith swivels to Hunk. “How did you even— !?”

“It’s a joke, man.” Hunk calmly pats his shoulder. “He’s just messing with you.”

Keith mutters something indignant and stalks off.

He’s so put out by the misdirection, he doesn’t even think to ask what the nonexistent bet actually was.

Lance keeps sleeping in Hunk’s room, simply because Hunk doesn’t want to sleep alone. A few nights without bad dreams doesn’t mean he’ll never have any and even if he seems paranoid even to himself, Lance never complains.

“I like your room better anyway,” he tells Hunk, smiling sheepishly. “I think you have a softer mattress.”

Lance changes the dressings on his shoulder every day and doesn’t suggest going to the pod even though by the fourth or fifth day, Hunk can tell he’s getting worried.

“I’m keeping it clean, but it just won’t close,” he grouses, frustrated.

“It feels better,” Hunk lies.

The pain seems more tolerable now, but Hunk’s pretty sure that’s just because he’s getting used to it. He always keeps his jaws clamped around the screams when Lance peels blood-stiffened bandages away. He’s gotten much better at bearing his discomforts quietly. 

* * *

“There you are!” Pidge announces, jogging across the hall.

“What’s up?” Hunk tips his head.

“I need your height,” she puffs breathlessly. “I was ignoring the mice and I think they got mad, because those little squeaky thieves hid my phone in the vent!”

“Oh, uh, maybe find Shiro,” Hunk says awkwardly, realizing this means Pidge either wants a boost on his shoulders or have him hold her up. “Sorry, Pidge, but I’m kinda busy.”

“With what?” she asks dubiously.

“Um,” Hunk replies eloquently, scraping his brain for a suitable excuse.

Pidge doesn’t give him time to find one.

“It’ll only take five minutes,” she says, ducking behind him and latching on like a little primate.

She braces her hands against his shoulders as her legs hook around his waist. The heel of her palm presses squarely into the wound and the yelp leaps up his throat before Hunk can swallow it back. Pidge gasps, instantly letting go.

“Did I hurt you?” she frets, worry creasing her brow.

“Figured that out all by yourself, huh?” Hunk gripes through gritted teeth, protectively grasping at his shoulder.

Renewed pain detonates all the way down to his fingertips, burning like hellfire.

“What did I do?” Pidge whispers, confusion and concern a conflict on her features.

“You made it worse,” Hunk groans, too preoccupied with pain to realize he’s letting a secret slip. “Damn it, Pidge. I’m not your freaking human ladder!”

Pidge hesitantly reaches for him, then gasps, drawing back as her complexion drains to a chalky pallor.

“You’re bleeding!”

“Barely,” Hunk mumbles, even though he can’t really see it. He can feel the wet warm of fresh blood, however, blooming on his back.

She stands on tiptoe and peels his hand away, making a frightened noise in her throat.

“Blood is soaking through your shirt! Hunk, I didn’t do this, what happened?”

“Calm down,” he grumbles instead of answering. “It’s a scratch, you’re overreacting.”

She gives him a stunned look and does the exact opposite of what he needs her to do. She starts yelling for help down the hall.

“It’s just a scratch,” he argues, but she’s already caused a commotion.

There are brisk footsteps headed in their direction, several distinguishable sets of them. It’s Lance who reaches them first. He gasps, alarmed gaze darting to Pidge.

“Aw crap, what’d you do?”

“Not that,” she shrieks, frazzled as she gestures. “There’s no way I did that!”

Then suddenly the rest of the team is trotting up and Hunk edges toward the wall. If he can keep his back to the wall, then maybe no one will realize how bad it is.

“What’s going on?” Shiro demands, visibly disquieted.

“Hunk’s gushing blood,” Pidge pants, violently raking her fingers through her hair. “I-I didn’t know, I made it worse!”

“No I’m not,” Hunk denies immediately. “She’s exaggerating.”

“If you’re hurt, it’s probably best we take a look,” Coran says placidly, taking a step forward. “Even if it’s minor, always better to be thorough than negligent.”

Hunk edges closer to the wall, suddenly feeling very much like a rabbit cornered by foxes.

“Be reasonable,” Allura adds. “If you’ve sustained an injury severe enough to frighten Pidge, surely it warrants a look.”

“You need to let us look,” Shiro orders, not unkindly. “That’s not a request. This is important.”

Hunk feels his chest constrict under the reemergent threat of the pod. He can’t make a run for it. HIs teammates are faster than he is even when he’s not wounded, but the pod is definitely where they’re going to want to put him if they see. Hunk is petrified by the mere thought of going in the pod again. 

He desperately turns to Lance for help. Lance nods and quickly steps in front of him, teeth snagging at his lip.

“If he lets you look, can you promise not to cart him off to the pods? He’s terrified of the pods, you guys. Don’t do that to him.”

Hunk isn’t sure he likes the honesty route right now. He wishes he could just come up with an excuse and slip out and be done with this, without saying anything more or showing anybody anything. But he can’t find his voice over his hammering heartbeat threatening to crack his ribs.

“Since when are you scared of the pods?” Keith asks, sounding more surprised than anything.

Well, since he died.

But that's not something Hunk could bring himself to say even if he could find his voice.

“If at all possible, we’ll proceed without the pods,” Coran agrees.

Lance gives Hunk’s good shoulder a reassuring squeeze and Hunk gives in, turning around. There’s a chorus of gasps and he tries to turn his back to the wall once more, but Allura gets ahold of him and twists him around.

His friends’ hands pull up his shirt and it’s every bit as embarrassing as it is nerve-wreaking. Between Allura and Keith, he’s held steady, and he can tell it’s Coran messing with the bandages when gloved fingertips play at their edges.

Then they’re torn away and it’s nothing to sneeze at, because they’re essentially glued to his flesh by blood. Hunk forcefully eats a scream before it can rise to the surface, dread sitting hard and cold in his stomach.

Keith curses. Pidge makes a choked kind of sound, likely shaken by the sight of what she reopened. Or maybe she didn’t reopen it. According to Lance, it never really closed. It’s not at an angle Hunk can take a look for himself, unless he actually tries with effort and mirrors. He hasn’t tried at all. 

It isn’t something he wants to see. The noises his teammates are making reinforce this knowledge.

“How long has it been like this?” Coran asks.

“About a week,” Lance answers uneasily.

“This unquestionably requires a pod,” Allura declares.

Hunk whirls around and presses back against the wall, vehemently shaking his head. “Not happening. No way. “

“Hunk, please,” Allura stresses, shoulders tensing. “That is a serious injury. You’re compromising your health.”

“It’s fine, Lance is taking care of me.”

Shiro gives Lance a wary look, a tired rebuke shadowed in there. 

“There aren't any magical healing machines on Earth,” Hunk points out. “If this happened on Earth, I’d have to get it taken care of without one.”

“On Earth, that’d probably be surgery,” Keith says bluntly. “It’s serious. I could fit both hands in that hole.”

Hunk winces at the imagery and nearly gags.

“Listen,” Shiro says softly. “I’m not really comfortable with the pods either. I’m sure it’s no secret they make me uneasy, but I also know when they’re necessary. This is one of those times, Hunk.”

“Don’t even.” Hunk glowers. “Your reasons for not wanting to go in are way different than mine!”

Shiro’s unease was pretty much rooted in his PTSD. The confined space of the pod's cylindric cage, the exposure of being on display unconscious. It’s completely understandable, but Hunk still doesn’t think they’re similar. He doesn’t want to go in the pod because…well, he’ll die. Or, it feels like he’ll die anyway. The pods feel the same way the kitchen does, really.

Shiro offers him this tight, sad smile and says, “I don’t think they are.”

“I don’t care what you think. I don’t care what any of you think,” Hunk decides resolutely. “I’m _not_ going in a pod. Not today, not ever again. End of discussion.”

There are downsides to being a person of the larger variety. Hunk’s gotten too used to it to be disappointed when clothes he likes don’t come in his size. Even the clothes that do fit don’t always fit right, and people judge the way he looks in them. One thing that Hunk finds particularly grating is that when he eats out, there’s always some snob that inevitably shoots him a disgusted look just for enjoying his food, like being big means he shouldn’t have the right to.

But there are also upsides to being a person of the larger variety. One being that no one can actually force him to do anything. When he stands his ground, Hunk is as immovable as a mountain. If he really digs his heels in, his size is guaranteed to make anyone pushing him back off.

That isn’t to say this is a threat— it’s not, but it’s close enough to one that Shiro picks up the undertone. He backs away, rubs a hand over his face, and for a moment it looks like Hunk’s about to get lectured.

Then Allura intercepts, stills Shiro with a gentle pat on his shoulder, and glides her way into Hunk’s space. She cups his face in her hands for the second time in his life, her sigh drifting through him like a weary phantom. They briefly lock eyes and then hers are hooded as her hands slide down.

“I’m sorry for this, Hunk. Truly.”

Before he can ask what she’s talking about, he feels a shock like static to his neck and everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm assuming Allura can do the zappy thing Alfor did to her in S1E1. She's his spawn and whatnot. Anyway, next chapter is last chapter! This will have one more chapter than its predecessor, but it'll be shorter cause they're shorter chapters.


	6. Chapter 6

Hunk is only actually aware of being in the pod for a handful of seconds and it still catapults him into a panicked frenzy. It can’t open fast enough and as soon as there’s a gap between the glass, he throws himself forward. He’s scrambling down the steps on numb, chilly legs and inevitably stumbles, spilling on the floor.

Allura reaches down to help him up. Quick as he can manage feeling like a partly melted popsicle, Hunk furiously slaps her hand away.

“No,” he growls, shooting her a glacial glare. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you ever touch me, you lost that right when you stuffed me in that fucking frozen coffin!”

Allura stands agape, briefly stunned. Coran steps forward, stern with disapproval. “Don’t speak to the princess that way.”

“Not my princess,” Hunk snaps, hefting himself to his feet. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m not Atlean!”

Coran barks something but Hunk doesn’t catch it, rapidly spinning to Lance and grabbing him by the shoulders. “How long was I in there?”

“Just two days,” Lance promises solemnly. “You’re okay. You didn’t miss much.”

Two days. That’s not awful. Hunk swallows, nodding his head.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay,” Lance repeats carefully. “Then you think you can put me back on the floor?”

Hunk hadn’t realized he’d picked him up. Wordlessly, he sets Lance down and makes a break for the exit.

“No you don’t,” Shiro jogs up from behind him, a hand clamping down on his shoulder. “We need to talk.”

Shiro comes up to flank him, his arm sliding over his shoulders. Hunk goes rigid.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but you’re not coping well,” Shiro says, pointedly softer, just between them. “It’s becoming a problem.”

“If you want to talk about coping issues, there’s a few things I could say to you too,” Hunk retorts.

He can see the sting of the remark in the tightening of Shiro’s jaw.

“I’m not looking for a fight, Hunk,” he sighs, “but we need to address this. You’re slipping up, you’re lashing out, and you neglected a serious injury. You’ve been struggling since what happened—“

“It happened because I saved you!” Hunk snarls, shoving him back. “Quit trying to force me to talk about things that will make me feel even worse! That’s not gonna kill you!”

Shiro drains to a ghostly pale, looking as though Hunk just punched him in the stomach. Keith comes charging over, protectively bracing himself between Shiro and Hunk.

“Don’t you ever talk to him like that!” he spits, livid as a tempest. “You don’t get to make him feel guiltier than he already does just because you did your job!”

Hunk feels his own anger dying away, smothered by regret the moment he saw the look on Shiro’s face. But then, suddenly, Lance is here, wedging himself between them and nearly as fired up as Keith is.

“It’s not his damn job, Keith!” he splutters. “Hunk isn’t some human shield!”

“You’re missing the point. We’re a team! This is what it means to be a team, we take risks for each other and sometimes that means making sacrifices! Any of us would have done the same thing!” Keith shoulders Lance out of the way and thrusts into Hunk’s space with a smoldering glare.

“You’re not special just because you did the right thing and got burned,” he hisses, low and dangerous. “You sure as hell don’t get to make Shiro feel like shit for it when he would break his back for you ten times over.”

Hunk swallows heavily, hands curling into fists. It’s a motion Keith doesn’t miss. The next thing he knows, Keith’s moving like he’s ready for a fight, shoulders squared. Hunk was nearly ready to apologize, but this throws him right back into being pissed.

“What? You think I’m going to hit you!?”

“Let’s not pretend you’re fast enough to hit me,” Keith seethes, and there’s something provoking in it.

For a heartbeat Hunk actually wants to hit him, wants to smash his fist to the delicate underside of his jaw, wants to feel the split of skin and shift of bone beneath his knuckles.

Hunk is not a violent person and the sheer presence of that desire in his head, no matter how fleeting, is something that frightens him.

“Enough!” Coran shouts. “Disperse this instant or all of you are going to be scrubbing this castle from here to the Pynkirg Nebula!”

Hunk backs down, taking a deep breath. Keith watches him curtly and then returns his attention to Shiro, still pallid and pained. He loops his arm over the older paladin’s shoulders and leads him away like one would lead a skittish animal to safety.

Then Lance is grabbing Hunk’s hand, tugging him toward the opposite hallway. Hunk isn’t sure how long they’re walking for when the hushed tones of Pidge and Allura commenting on the spectacle fade away behind them. They’re sufficiently alone when Lance finally lets go.

“You can’t talk to Shiro like that,” he scolds. “Like, I defended you to Keith because he’s Keith, but that was totally uncalled for.”

“I know,” Hunk mutters, rubbing at his temples. “I just wanted to shut him up.”

“What you said to Allura was pretty bogus too.”

“Hardly,” Hunk snorts. “She knocked me out.”

He knows he went too far with Shiro, but there’s no forthcoming forgiveness for Allura.

“She kinda had to.” Lance winces, rubbing at the back of his neck. “If Pidge didn’t find you out, I would’ve said something anyway. Your wound wasn’t healing by itself and you were hurting big time, don’t lie.”

“Still don’t see why Allura had to knock me out,” Hunk protests.

“Because you were scaring us, man,” Lance heaves tiredly. “It’s like this terrible new talent of yours.”

“I’m sorry about that. Really, I am, I don’t want to worry anybody,” Hunk swears. “But being worried doesn’t give you guys the right to force your decisions on me.”

“I’m not saying it does, but she was trying to help you. That’s all any of us wanna do, okay? But you won’t tell us how, so we’re left to guess.”

“I don’t know how,” Hunk admits. “I just wish…I wish what happened didn’t happen.”

“I do too, believe me.” Lance gives him this battered, apologetic smile. “But it did.”

“You never made good on your offer to cut my hair,” Hunk says uneasily, changing the subject.

Lance shrugs. “It wouldn’t do what you want it to, you know?”

Hunk runs his hand through it, weaves his fingers through its threads and swallows down something bitter.

“You’re right. I need to go think about some stuff, okay?”

Hunk heads in the direction of his room.

“Wait.”

He turns back.

“Is it okay to leave you alone right now?”

Hunk balks. If the context were any different he might gripe at him for being overbearing. But the worry is naked on Lance’s face, trepidation hanging over him like a rain cloud.

He’s been so caught up in being scared, he didn’t quite notice just how much he’s been scaring everybody else.

“Of course. You shouldn’t have to ask.”

* * *

Hunk spends some time in front of the mirror, messing with his headband and getting accustomed to the way his hair frames his face. He puts on the necklace Shay left him, a solid cluster of tiny Balmera crystals strung on a thin, braided cord. He traces the edges with his fingertips and briefly presses his lips to it with the slim hope that maybe the Balmera can feel it.

Maybe it can tell Shay he’s sorry.

He has more to say than that, but on the off chance this little thing even can pass messages along, he’s sure the more complicated stuff would be lost in translation.

He changes into clean clothes and as harrowing as it was to be in the pod, there’s still relief in the lack of pain when he pulls on a shirt and pops his head through the collar. With that, Hunk takes a walk that feels much longer than it actually is.

And somehow, he still arrives outside Shiro’s door far too soon. He paces outside it for a bit, back and fourth, debating. Might be better just to leave, go back to his own room and find another distraction to hide in. He’d probably be more comfortable that way, for a little while.

But that kind of fraught complacency evaporates as soon as the distraction is gone and it’s not really fair for Hunk to be comfortable while Shiro’s gagging on the guilt he shoved down his throat, anyway.

So he knocks.

After a few moments, the door slides open and Hunk’s heart shatters at the way Shiro stares at him, with broken, wavering eyes like he’s something that Shiro killed himself. Broad-shouldered as he is, he shrinks in the doorway, head bowed and posture taut as a bowstring.

“I’m sorry,” Hunk murmurs, his own compunction clamping his chest in a vise.

“You don’t have to be,” Shiro exhales heavily, closing his eyes as he shakes his head. “You really don’t have to be…”

“I am!” Hunk swallows and puts a hand to Shiro’s face, the older paladin’s eyes fluttering open in surprise. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said, I said it because I knew it would shut you down. And I shut you down because I didn’t want to talk about what happened, but now I do.”

Shiro peers into his face, searching, uncertain. Hunk slides his hand from his cheek and squeezes his shoulder, attempting to reassure him.

“Can we talk?”

Shiro nods and steps back, letting Hunk in. Hunk takes a breath and steels his nerves as the door slides closed behind him.

“If I had to do it again, I would,” Hunk promises. “Save you, I mean. Even if it meant dying. Even if it meant not being here.”

“I wouldn’t want you to do that,” Shiro tells him, stern even through the audible tremble in his voice. “I don’t want any of you to ever do that.”

Hunk throws his hands up. “Oh well. Keith was right, we’re a team. We make sacrifices for each other.”

“You don’t understand.” Shiro frowns and rakes a hand back through his hair, teeth scraping over his lip as he struggles for whatever words he’s looking for.

“You don’t understand,” Hunk shoots back, blunt but not unkind. “You don’t remember anything because you were unconscious. But I remember you limp and bleeding, and rambling on and on while I carried you just to distract myself from knowing that you could die in my arms any second. I had to save you. It wasn’t really a choice, I just had to because I was really fucking scared.”

“It was a choice,” Shiro tells him. “You could’ve gotten in the pod. That’s the choice I want you to make next time, that’s—“

“Not something I can do,” Hunk exclaims. “Don’t you get it? I need you! I can’t let anything happen to you, or Lance, or Pidge, or Keith! Not if I can help it, because I can’t do this without you guys! I get scared or I get sick, or I spin out. I’m not built for this kind of stuff, not like you. I can’t do it by myself.”

Shiro crosses his arms over his chest and when he looks at Hunk again, his gaze is tired. “None of us can. Voltron takes five pilots.”

“You know I’m not just talking about Voltron!”

“I know and I’m not dismissing the way you feel, but Voltron comes first. I’m at peace with my mortality, Hunk. If I die, I die. Keith can pilot the Black Lion.”

“Right,” Hunk gripes bitterly. “Because if you died, Keith’s first priority would definitely be piloting the Black Lion.”

“Keith would be fine,” Shiro says. “He was fine without me before.”

“Just because he survived without you doesn’t mean he was fine!” Hunk snaps. “I survived what happened to me, or maybe not— I don’t know about technicality —either way I’m here, but I’m not fine!”

Shiro unfolds his arms and puts one around Hunk’s shoulders, steering him around. Hunk doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Shiro sits him down on the bed.

“I’m not fine,” Hunk repeats quietly. He stares hard at a spot on the floor. “I feel different.”

“Different?” Shiro repeats in question. His tone is careful, like he’s testing to make sure it’s okay to ask.

Hunk feels another needle of guilt and pats the place next to him before he answers. Shiro compliantly sits down.

“I’m not sure, exactly,” Hunk starts. “I guess I, uh, feel the time I missed a lot. It’s a weird kind of feeling because I wasn’t exactly aware of being out for three months, but there’s this disconnect between how things were before and how they are now. I get slapped in the face with my own absence in all this little stuff like more shelves put up for Pidge’s projects, and the bigger things like Yellow showing me what he did with Shay. It really gives me the creeps having that big of a mental gap…”

“I can relate,” Shiro hums thoughtfully. “I still have a year’s worth of missing memories.”

“Most of what you don’t remember is being tortured though.” Hunk gives Shiro a wary look. “I mean, is that stuff you actually want to remember?”

“Sometimes I want to,” Shiro says. “Any memories that could be useful, like remembering Myzax and Ulaz were. Sometimes I think it would be easier if I had a more specific context for my scars. I’m sure I got most of them in the arena but I think I’d like to know what faces they came from, or how I retaliated.”

“For closure or something?”

“That sounds about right,” Shiro agrees, bobbing his head. “Something like closure. Or maybe for more informational purposes. Maybe both. That said, I’m sure there’s a lot of it I am better off not knowing.”

“I think I would’ve been better off not knowing I died,” says Hunk. “But I guess it seems like it doesn’t matter since I’m here now anyway.”

“It matters,” Shiro declares, sliding his arm over Hunk’s shoulders again. “However you feel about it matters.”

Hunk leans into him and chews the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the somersaulting of his stomach as the darker parts of his mind dredge themselves up like creatures from the swamp.

“I didn’t want to talk about it because I thought things would go back to normal if I didn’t think about it,” Hunk confesses. “But trying so hard not to think about it just made me think about it more. I’m so sorry I said that stuff to you, Shiro.”

“I know.”

Hunk fidgets, knitting his fingers together and then unknitting, and wringing his hands just to distract himself enough not to get overwhelmed.

“It makes it scarier that I actually died, even if Allura brought me back. She said I was cold and that’s really disturbing to me, just…I don’t know…”

“Take your time,” Shiro consoles. “Or leave it at that, whatever you want.”

“I feel wrong. It’s stupid but I keep checking my pulse. Sometimes I even think that maybe I’m not supposed to be here, you know? Like I wasn’t supposed to make it because at first I didn’t.”

“Don’t question that,” Shiro tells him immediately, shifting his position and pulling Hunk into an actual hug. He squeezes him really tight, like a toddler with a newfound stuffed animal. It hurts and Hunk can barely breathe, but he doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t ask Shiro to stop, he just digs his fingers into his shirt and clings.

It’s like that for awhile and neither of them say anything. Hunk’s stomach still roils uneasily, a lump in his throat he can’t swallow down and all the bleak morbidities seeping into the comfort like poison.

“I didn’t experience anything,” Hunk divulges, unbidden. “I don’t know if that’s because there aren’t any afters or if I just wasn’t dead long enough to get to any. Do you know how sick it makes me to ask myself that. ‘Was I dead long enough?’”

“I wasn’t even there for it and believe me, it was too long.” Shiro holds him even tighter. “You can’t do that again, not for me. I’m not asking, I’m ordering.”

Hunk squirms around to tuck his face into Shiro’s bicep, absently appreciating the cool kiss of metal to his cheek.

“That’s a pretty stupid order, Shiro. I’m sorry if it makes you mad but I’m not gonna follow it.”

“You’re usually the last person to disobey me,” Shiro mutters, moderately irritable but spent more than anything.

“You usually don’t give stupid orders,” huffs Hunk.

Shiro lets go of him and Hunk sits back. They have a silent stare down and Shiro is the first to blink, frowning as he rubs the back of his neck.

“I’m not happy about this insubordinate streak of yours, but I am glad we talked.”

“Me too,” Hunk agrees. “I thought talking would make me feel worse but I actually feel better now.”

“You’ll probably feel even better when you get some sleep,” Shiro says pointedly, giving him a firm stare.

Hunk blinks, fluttering in bemusement. “Oh. Lance told you?”

Shiro shakes his head. “Lance didn’t say a thing. I’ve just been there, that’s all.”

“It’s been better lately,” Hunk says earnestly. “He’s been staying with me. It makes it easier.”

“That’s good, as long as he’s okay with it.”

“Seems to be.” Hunk bobs his head. “How about you? Doing okay with sleep and such?”

Shiro shrugs. “Could be worse.”

Hunk scowls. “You’re kinda hypocritical when it comes to this kind of stuff.”

“Give me some credit,” Shiro huffs, almost petulant. “I’m honest when I know it’s necessary.”

“If you say so.” Hunk isn’t fully convinced, but he’ll give Shiro a pass for now. He’s already given him enough grief today and to be fair, the guy was pretty open about things during most of their conversation.

“Is there anything else you need to get off your chest?”

“I don’t think so,” Hunk says, meaning it. He can’t go from zero to one hundred. This is enough for now.

It is a beginning to be built on. When you bake a fancy cake, you don’t create all the tiers at once. You bake them one at a time, inevitably to be layered with careful precision. If you rushed it, it’d be a hell of a sloppy cake.

“If you change your mind, I’m always here,” Shiro says softly.

“That goes both ways.” Hunk claps him on the back and takes his leave.

* * *

Hunk finds Allura where he least expects to, Pidge’s unofficial lab. One they used to share, but well, three months and the past few weeks have pretty much nailed it as entirely her possession. He was planning to ask if she knew where Allura went, but the two of them are together, talking over some blueprints.

Pidge spots him first, gaze cautiously flickering. Allura’s back is to him and she’s still preoccupied peering at blueprints.

“Allura.”

She snaps up and turns around, going ramrod straight and defensively lifting her chin.

“I won’t stand for any more verbal outbursts,” she warns. “There’s too much to do, and I don’t expect—“

She breaks off with a quick intake of breath as Hunk gently wraps his arms around her.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to touch you,” she murmurs warily.

“Technically I’m the one touching you but yeah, no. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Allura goes lax in the embrace and even nestles her face into the crook of his neck, fingers curling in his shirt. Pidge watches with narrow eyes, looks a lot like she’s pouting.

“You want a hug too?” Hunk asks.

“No,” she says a little too vehemently, button noise scrunching up.

“Yes you do.” Hunk cracks a grin as he calls her bluff. “Get over here.”

Pidge side-eyes him as she makes her way over, but does so all the same, and wiggles her way into the hug. When they break apart, Allura wears a subtle smile and Hunk doesn’t feel like he has to say any more. Not yet, anyway. Eventually he’ll thank her for well, saving his life, but he isn’t comfortable enough with the whole thing to do so yet.

Right now, he shuffles around and curiously peeks at the blueprints, tilting his head.

“You guys are trying to add cloaking to the castle?”

“Yes.” Allura strides forward and plants her hands on the table. “It’s proven very useful for the Green Lion and the castle is a constant target.”

“No, it makes sense,” Hunk agrees. “That’s just like, a huge project.”

“We could use help,” Pidge says, nonchalant, but an invitation nonetheless.

“Alright,” Hunk says agreeably, grinning. “Bring me up to speed.”

* * *

Over the next few days, it seems things slowly start to fall into place.

They’re never going to be the same. And that’s okay, because really, nothing stays the same. Everything changes.

Hunk feels okay, mostly. He’s finding a normalcy, slowly getting used to the differences. He crafts himself a slow cooker so he can dabble in culinary endeavors without having to go into the kitchen. He hasn’t openly admitted that the kitchen freaks him out, but he’s pretty sure his friends have picked up on it.

He’s starting to get back into the routine of training exercises and actually socializing with the other inhabitants of the castle. Participating in maintenance and mission plans. He, Allura, and Pidge still haven’t quite integrated cloaking into the castle yet, but their last attempt was promising.

He’s playing with some ideas while Pidge naps on him in the lounge, tuckered out from training. She doesn’t weight much but she’s been there for awhile and his legs are starting to prickle beneath her. She lies sprawled in his lap, head pillowed in the crook of his arm.

Hunk pokes at a tablet with his free hand, grimacing as her drool seeps into his sleeve. Ugh. It’s warm.

“I can’t believe I came all the way back from the beyond for this,” he mutters without much thought.

He hears a quiet snicker from behind the couch and cranes his neck to see Keith.

“You think that’s funny?” he demands.

Keith blanches, startled. “Oh, um, kinda? Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“You didn’t.” Hunk grins. “I’m joking. I am a little surprised though, you hate Shiro’s dark humor.”

“It’s different. Shiro’s dark sense of humor always has the worst timing. Yours is more…” Keith wiggles his hand, scowling slightly as he searches for the right word.

“Cute?” Hunk suggests.

“Yeah. Wait, no—“

“You think I’m cute?” Hunk teases, unable to resist such an easy opportunity to mess with him.

“I didn’t say that,” Keith sputters immediately.

“Aww, you’re blushing,” Hunk chirrups. He definitely understands why Lance enjoys this so much. “It’s okay, Keith. I don’t mind. Everyone has a crush on me sooner or later. Why do you think my nickname’s Hunk?”

“I do not have a—“ Keith stops abruptly, mouth screwing open as bemusement paints his face. “Nickname?”

“You didn’t think that was my actual name, did you?” Hunk raises a brow.

“N-No!” Keith ruffles, immediately crossing his arms over his chest. “Course not.”

“You totally did, oh my god! I have to tell Lance!”

“Be quiet,” Pidge grouses loudly, eyes still closed as she blindly flails up and tries to bat his mouth closed.

Hunk just sighs, resigned.

Pidge rolls over and burrows into his stomach, and Keith’s the one smirking at him as a new wet patch of drool dampens his side.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Directly used a suggestion from SheSaidRun on the predesscor to this fic. They left me this comment: 
> 
>  
> 
> _I just had a thought about this story and now I'm imagining Hunk, once he's healed some from the psychological trauma of dying (and maybe even using it as a coping mechanism? idk), every time something incredibly minor goes wrong: "I didn't get a building dropped on me for this!" when Lance accidentally knocks a mixing bowl off the kitchen counter or "I can't believe I came all the way back from the beyond for this." when Pidge drools on him during her post-training nap._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> And I thought it was perfect! So yeah, credit to them for that. Now this fic's done. Crossing my fingers for Shay content we probably won't get in s6, but whether we do or not, she gets her own one-shot series that'll take place before and during this one.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Starburst in Sunrise](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14950484) by [OreoCookie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OreoCookie/pseuds/OreoCookie)




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